Summer Tides
by adonais
Summary: A POTC prequel set in Port Royal. Our beloved Commodore is now in the company of one Miss Hartley. Feedback much appreciated! Rated T for mature theming and other fun things.
1. A Very Happy Birthday

_**Disclaimer:**_ Unfortunately, James Norrington and POTC do not belong to me. Feedback is much appreciated: please review! It means oodles to me!

_I: A Very Happy Birthday_

Commodore James Norrington sighed and sat back down in his chair. It creaked slightly and he leaned forwards in it to stay balanced. Needless to say, his office was in serious need of new furniture.

"My apologies for not informing you sooner, sir." Lieutenant Thomas Gillette tilted his head slightly, glancing at his superior for a moment.

"Not to worry, I shall manage." James said, and feigned a smile. "Thank you, Thomas. That will be all."

And so his evening would conclude with a impromptu dinner with the Hartleys. What a joy. James' hand strayed towards his temple in anticipation for the headache that was just waiting to break loose. The Hartley family were significant landowners and constituted an impressive presence in Port Royal. In between throwing banquets in rapid succession in hopes of either making further purchases or sales in land, as well as setting up daughters with potential suitors, the Hartley family were also rumoured to have been making business deals with renegades.

In other words, pirates. James nearly wrinkled his nose at the thought. Such dishonorable folk could hardly hold their end up in a bargain. How in God's name did William Hartley make profit at all?

This wasn't exactly his problem with the Hartleys. Said problem was just the fact that every time he attended one of their festivities, he always returned either with an overpowering headache and the smell of alcohol in his uniform, early enough that he was only half-starved (as he was often the target of conversations and as it was impolite to refuse participation by taking a bite out of his dinner, he often went an hour or so without food as it sat within his reach while he attempted, with all sincerity, to look delighted with the topic at hand), or without a piece of clothing. He could swear that he had started the month with four pairs of cufflinks.

"Very good, sir." Gillette turned to leave. "Oh and sir?"

"Yes, Thomas?" James rifled through a number of communiques. He could hardly dawdle this morning. In an hour, he would meet with his Lieutenants for a briefing. With the untimely passing of Port Royal's previous Commodore, James had been nominated as a successor, as had a few other Captains. The Admiralty had appointed him to the position a week ago, and he was still adjusting to the workload. At the moment, he had sent two of his captains on patrol as senior officers and had entrusted with them the education of the newest midshipmen. After all, in this infernal summer heat, one might as well make the best of it out at sea. On that thought, James then remembered that the_ Interceptor _was due to return in two days for refitting and inspection. His promotion ceremony was scheduled for two weeks later. In the meantime, it was his duty as Acting Commodore to uphold the absolute highest standard in discipline, and in so doing, set an example for his subordinates.

On a similar train of thought, he must also pay a visit to Governor Swann and deliver a tax report. Governor Swann had put James' name forward to the Admiralty, and with his impeccable record as well as the Governor's blessing, it was small wonder that he landed the position. James had yet to find a way of thanking the man for this as well as for his help in speaking to Elizabeth on his behalf.

Now James had always been a man of high moral character. As a young man, he had concentrated hard on his studies and in that regard, had received his due. At social gatherings, James had avoided notable characters that might have compromised his reputation or his patience (and at this point, his thoughts centered around Miss Michelle Hartley). As such, his interpersonal relationships were kept at a minimum. For one, he preferred to think that it kept him from bias in his work. It was more truthful to say that he was more afraid to ask a woman for a dance than it was to sail the _Dauntless_ in the face of the most impressive pirates (the fact that he was more certain of victory in the latter was irrelevant in such cases).

"Happy Birthday, sir." Thomas grinned, shutting the door behind him as he left the room.

James blinked and then blinked again. He recovered quickly enough to say "...Thank you, Thomas." before shaking his head. Indeed, he had been so caught up in the day's affairs that he had nearly forgotten that it was his birthday today. Greatly amused with himself, he turned the next page of the _Dauntless_' patrol calendar and returned his attention to where it had been previously: his duty to Port Royal.

-

"You were saying?" Lieutenant Tavington nudged Gillette with his elbow.

"Oh I was saying...right. He did seem surprised. I don't think he remembered at all." Thomas shrugged and tipped a rather hefty amount of rum into a glass of orange juice. "Do you think he'll mind? Grog aside, I have never seen him around a glass of rum."

"Not if it was your idea. And it is only his way of setting an example." Lieutenant Groves added. "I shouldn't be surprised if he has the finest cellar in that mansion of his."

"Indeed, and he drowns his sorrows in the few hours that he _is_ at home and not either sleeping or being bothered by his sister." Gillette said sarcastically, as he poured himself a clean orange juice. "Caledon?"

Tavington waved his hand. "This is tea. Tea and orange juice do not mix in the slightest way if I am not mistaken."

Thomas shrugged. "Jonathan?"

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Groves rearranged the chairs in the Officer's Mess once again, checking below the table to ensure proper leg room for each of the five seats. Meticulously, he centered each of the placemats and ensured that coasters were placed around the table. At the head of the table, he placed a pair of compasses, a ruler, a copy of the briefing agenda that Gillette had devised, a magnifying glass and a small box, the last of which he placed at the center of the table. He took the glass of orange juice that Gillette had poured him and sat down in his customary seat.

"Honestly, this is a little much, is it not?" Tavington looked amused. He walked around the table once, and then again. "That coaster is out of place. Goodness, Lieutenant Groves! Daydreaming on duty?" He smirked.

"As usual." Jonathan nodded, taking a sip of the drink. He glanced at the door. Gillette put the bottle of rum in the back of the mess cabinet.

"What have you got in the box?" Caledon picked up the object and peered at it closely.

"It's a pair of -" At that precise moment, Commodore James Norrington chose to step in through the door.

"Commodore!" Gillette said, rather blithely. Tavington put the box back down in the middle of the table and sat down, mouthing 'What is it?!' to Groves, who raised an eyebrow and jerked his head at Norrington.

"Greetings, gentlemen. I trust you were all...behaving?" James glanced dismissively at the orange juice. "Pardon me, but-"

"That would depend on your definition of 'behaving', sir." Groves interrupted, noting with amusement that James Norrington did not look at orange juice, he glared at it.

Tavington tried his shot at being helpful, "I think he means -"

"Excuse my lateness, sirs." Lewis Dalton, Port Royal's newest Lieutenant stepped inside and hurried to fill the last remaining seat. James looked him over, observing that he looked flush and hesitated to glance at any of the other officers in the eye. That would soon have to be rectified. There was nothing worse than a shy officer in command.

"Not to worry, Lieutenant Dalton. Though I expect it not to happen in the future unless under extenuating circumstances." For all the seriousness in his words, a glint of humour laced his voice.

"Yes, sir. My apologies, sir."

Tavington then tried his shot at being unhelpful. "Lieutenant Dalton, I believe you are sitting in the cook's seat."

"I-I am?" He stood up immediately, nearly knocking the chair over in the process.

"Oh yes." Groves added. "Officers with lowest seniority stand to the side. Right there." He pointed, and Dalton quickly shuffled over to the corner of the room.

"Here?" The young Lieutenant was almost pink from embarrassment.

James sighed. "Thank you, gentlemen. Lieutenant Dalton, if you please." He gestured to the chair, suppressing a smile. "These fine men, as you can see, _ache_ for watch duty and thus purposely irk me to forward that notion. My apologies for their behaviour."

Dalton looked stunned. It took him a moment to register the Commodore's words. "Not a worry, sir." He took a seat again and earned a wink from Gillette, which caused him to calm down considerably.

"Before we begin, whose drink is this?" James looked disdainfully at the orange juice.

"Yours." Lieutenants Gillette, Tavington and Groves chorused together.

"Pardon? I don't drink orange juice." James raised an eyebrow and continued to glare at the offending beverage.

"It prevents scurvy."Groves began. "You'd best have some. I can't imagine you with scurvy, James. Port Royal needs its finest defence in prime shape. Not to mention that the Hartleys would call for a public holiday if you were to fall deathly ill from not drinking enough orange juice."

"And the high sugar content is a bonus!" Tavington added, taking a sip of his tea, which ironically did not contain any sugar.

"But I don't -"

"Just try it, James!" Gillette urged. "It's new in the fort's stores. It'll be gone in a week."

The Commodore sighed and raised the drink to his lips, but then put it back down. "Something is amiss here." He glanced at his Flag-Lieutenant, "Gillette, why are you -"

He was then interrupted, "Pardon me, sir, but these gentlemen had asked me to toast your health, for I believe it is your birthday today." Dalton said hesitantly, earning incredulous looks from the other Lieutenants. "To your health, Commodore."

"To your health!" The Lieutenants said, all at slightly different times. Groves stared at the new Lieutenant. Tavington almost choked on his tea.

Gillette raised an eyebrow and covered a smirk behind his hand. James had suspected the three Lieutenants together, but Dalton was new and had been late to the meeting. He would hardly suspect anything now, especially since Dalton had a spotless track record as a midshipman. He gave the younger man a nod of approval and it was received with a blush.

James took a sip and paused thoughtfully. "It tastes a little funny." He wrinkled his nose.

"That's because you haven't had orange juice in a while." Tavington said immediately.

"Indeed. And you can hardly handle a battle against scurvy unless you drink it all." Groves said firmly.

-

An hour later, James Norrington stepped outside of the Officer's Mess feeling rather dizzy.

Gillette looked terribly concerned, and perhaps even a little guilty. James would have registered that look and the fact that the drink had been indeed laced with alcohol, had many other things not been on his mind at that moment. However, Gillette reassured him by stating that he had already sent the tax report to the Governor with Dalton, which was in fact why the young Lieutenant had been late to the meeting.

He nodded, "Thank you, Lieutenant." James flinched slightly as a sudden shock of pain coursed through his head. "Must be the heat. I will be in my office."

"I'll send a page with some tea, sir." Gillette said, wondering what James would have done if he knew the truth, and turned back into the Officer's Mess only to find that the small giftbox had remained untouched at the centre of the table. He turned to call James back to give him the gift, but changed his mind as a better idea struck him and he put the box into his jacket pocket.

_**Author's Note:**_Just a reminder to please review! I love feedback!


	2. Barf on the Beach

_**Disclaimer:**_ I wish POTC was mine, but it isn't. So all I have is a laptop, half a cup of tea and a papercut. Don't ask.

_II: Barf on the Beach_

"JAMES! There you are!" A shrill and somewhat annoying voice forced Commodore James Norrington to turn around and acknowledge it. How was it that this occurred just as his headache was just quieting down? It was a chill night, and he had taken his leave of the Hartley dinner party. He intended to pass by the fort to check up on a few things on his way home before retiring for the night.

"Miss Hartley." He said curtly, "A pleasure, as always." He held out his arm and she took it, swinging her hips around as she traipsed by his side, nearly dragging his arm to the ground. Her frightningly long nails made small marks in his ironed uniform and James had to hold his breath to stop himself from sneezing, due to the positively lethal amounts of perfume in her hair.

"You were avoiding me at dinner tonight, weren't you?" Michelle Hartley had decided for herself that she was entitled to a straightforward answer. After all, if she had her way, both she and the Commodore would be the talk of Port Royal in the morning. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you've been so awfully rude."

"I --" He was cut off. Her hair was making his nose itch; his personal space had completely been ignored.

"Now now, don't try that with me, James." He blinked at her pretense of their familiarity. It had been well established that Michelle Hartley was one of the frontrunners in terms of marriage in Port Royal. However, he continually convinced himself that this was only due to her education and breeding. It was downright impossible in his mind that she should be one of Port Royal's most eligible and have a mouth like the bottomless well. She also seemed to know wherever James was throughout the day. He would have taken this as an advance on her part, except he knew for certain that Thomas Gillette was absolutely smitten (despite his better judgement, no doubt) with her.

James was completely sure that no woman could not respond to such adoration. He referred, of course, to the past Yule, where Thomas had walked across town to deliver a Yule log that he had decorated himself, complete with an inscription of "With Love from Your Thomas". He had spent every free hour from his scheduled patrol to work on it. James himself had offered to help, and as such, he now had a rather hefty pile of Thomas' draft Yule logs next to his fireplace at his home (and a large stack outside too). Thomas apparently thought it quite safe to store them all with him. The night he left to deliver said log, Thomas had just returned from patrol and was obviously exhausted. In his rush to see Miss Hartley, he had forgotten his dinner jacket aboard the _Dauntless_ (though how he managed this was beyond James, for it had been raining that night). He had turned up to the party soaked through and through to spend the night at the Hartley's. James would have suspected something from the story, but Thomas had turned up for watch duty the next morning with a stuffed red nose and coughing something dreadful.

"Well, it seems I have been found out, Miss Hartley. Do allow me to apologise." James said. This was exactly what she was looking for and he knew it. She liked to play these aimless games with him and pouted in the cheekiest manner when he stopped paying attention (which he did often when his mind began to wander off on its own and plan his next busy day). He often had to call upon his Royal Navy discipline and patience to deal with her.

She surprised him, however, when she said quietly, "Thom said it was your birthday today." His first thought was to tell Gillette that she had called him "Thom" and that it must be a hopeful sign. His second thought was to wonder where the conversation was going.

"Indeed, it is." He said frankly, shifting his other hand to rub a tender spot near his temple. The headache induced by the tampered orange juice had bothered him throughout the day and it seemed to be returning with renewed vigour. So much for concluding the night with peace and quiet, he thought.

"He also mentioned that you tend to lose a lot of your clothing at my parties, James."

He froze for a second and then continued to walk at a rather languid pace before uttering a simple "Did he?". James could have sworn that he hadn't said anything of the sort, especially in the manner at which she was suggesting. It simply was not true. "I believe that I will be having an important discussion with Thomas tomorrow morning." He could not wait until they reached the fort. She was becoming a increasingly large burden with each passing minute, which was often a sign that his reputation was at stake.

She laughed rather shrilly, and he resisted the urge to cover his ear, for she was right beside it. Instead, he discreetly rubbed his throbbing temple with his free hand. "Well I thought I should bring it up to you, since it is such a recurrent problem." This was definitely bordering on inappropriate discussion. His lips parted as he was about to excuse himself from her company when she interrupted him with "Do you think I could help you with it?"

"Help me with what exactly, Miss Hartley?" James said, determined not to lose his cool demeanor. They were approaching the south side of the fort and up ahead, James glimpsed the red Marines at their watch stations. Perhaps he could escape before he was persuaded to tell her off.

"Just..." She stopped, forcing him to stop as well. Michelle Hartley then wrapped both arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. James drew a quick breath and then found himself coughing. He turned away, the strong alcoholic base of her perfume caused him to flinch. He was suddenly overcome by a violently painful throb in his head. Then, he began to feel nauseous.

"Excuse me." He managed to say, before stepping off to the side of the walkway. He took a few deep breaths to clear the headache temporarily, but his nausea only worsened. James was about to sit down, when his stomach decided otherwise. A minute and a half later, he was retching into the sand and the scant dinner that he had managed to ingest when he wasn't forced to converse, found a new home in the Port Royal sands. On the bright side, he wouldn't be receiving anymore unwanted advances from Miss Hartley.

"Oh DEAR, James! I do believe you're ill!" Michelle Hartley looked rather worried. He registered the look, thinking quickly and then realizing that Thomas had looked the same way that morning after the briefing. Piece by piece, the puzzle began to resort itself.

"Miss Hart--"

"We had best get you home, James. Look at you, you're all white and shaking!" He would have remarked that he was not shaking and was white whenever he spent a lot of time in the fort, if he hadn't be preoccupied with trying to figure out just what the she and Thomas were up to.

It was then that two Marines arrived upon the scene (he could hardly imagine the need for all the attention) and after an exchange of words between them and Michelle Hartley, one left to call a carriage for James. As much as he despised being mothered, he allowed her to sit in the carriage with him as they rode to his house.

"Oh Jamesy-poo! JAMIE!" A voice called from the doorway. Miss Hartley laughed loudly again, nearly sending James back into waves of nausea. The woman leaning against the doorframe was Cassandra Norrington, James' notorious-for-rebellion sister.

_**Author's Note:**_ Reviews! Please just click the button and tell me what you think!


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